An Ink Bottle, Which Now

Fiction Is A Solution, The Best Solution, To The Problem Of Existential Solitude.

Being Dead's Only A Problem If You Know You're Dead, Which You Never Do Because You're Dead!

It's Healthy To Say Uncle When Your Bone's About To Break.

Walter Had Never Liked Cats. They'd Seemed To Him The Sociopaths Of The Pet World, A Species Domesticated As An Evil Necessary For The Control Of Rodents And Subsequently Fetishized The Way Unhappy Countries Fetishize Their Militaries, Saluting The Uniforms Of Killers As Cat Owners Stroke Their Animals' Lovely Fur And Forgive Their Claws And Fangs. He'd Never Seen Anything In A Cat's Face But Simpering Incuriosity And Self-interest; You Only Had To Tease One With A Mouse-toy To See Where It's True Heart Lay...cats Were All About Using People

An Ink Bottle, Which Now Seems Impossibly Quaint, Was Still Thinkable As A Symbol In 1970.